


the blazing sunset in your eyes

by insincerely



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Bottom T'Challa (Marvel), Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insincerely/pseuds/insincerely
Summary: There is something to be said about the way T'Challa so easily surrenders himself like this to Erik, panting and writhing, head thrown back to expose the smooth column of his neck.





	the blazing sunset in your eyes

There is something to be said about the way T'Challa so easily surrenders himself like this to Erik, panting and writhing, head thrown back to expose the smooth column of his neck. Baring himself to the enemy so carelessly, so helplessly, so unlike the strong, formidable king who sits upon the throne.

But then again, words have always failed Erik at times when he most needs them– he could talk up a storm while he's toppling over governments, exposing decades-old secrets enough to divide a country– but this? With T'Challa under him, looking for all the world like he belongs there, pushing his hips up so Erik can fuck him deeper?

It would be senseless to even try, especially when Erik can just pry his thighs apart, stilling T'Challa's attempts at getting more of his cock inside so he can pull out instead. The whine that spills out of the king is more than enough incentive for the temporary loss of tight, wet heat, and Erik shushes him, voice husky as he says, "Shhh, I ain't going anywhere. I'm right here... I'm right here."

He repeats these words as he rearranges T'Challa so that they're both lying on their sides instead, pale, silk sheets pooling around them as they face the huge window scaling the entire wall. The curtains are drawn back to reveal the almost surreal scenery of red and orange tendrils mingling in the horizon– the beginnings of the ever-splendid Wakandan sunset.

Erik slots himself behind T'Challa like a missing puzzle piece, fitting together despite the mismatched edges. They've both softened with time, learned how to give way and give in to each other through the friction of where they stood and what they believed in.

"N'Jadaka..." There was a time Erik would've choked the name out of T'Challa's lips, fingers tightening around the king's neck until the very life extinguished in those round, round eyes, but now–

 _Now_ , Erik leans in, pressing his forehead against the back of T'Challa's head as he opens T'Challa like a gift, easing his cock in with a low groan. His arm comes to rest around T'Challa's middle, holding him close as he thrusts in slow, languid, like they have an eternity to make up for what they've both lost to time, and pain. So, so much pain.

But Erik thinks that they don't need forever; they just need this moment, right here, right now, with T'Challa's fingers digging into Erik's bicep, with their legs tangled and lost together in the sheets, with the Wakandan sunset bathing them in a fiery red, the shine in their eyes and the glow of their skin tinted with that vibrant color.

Despite the heavy, tantalizing sex haze that fogs his mind, Erik still manages to fumble with his wrist, activating one of the kimoyo beads so that the window starts to turn more opaque. This goes on until the view of the mountains is replaced with their own reflection, bodies moving together and against each other at the same time.

"Fuck," Erik can't keep the reverence out of his voice, eyes caught in the way T'Challa's face is contorted in raw ecstasy, thick, swollen lips parted as he gasps out Erik's name. His line of sight is fixed on Erik too, those soft eyes framed by long lashes a punch to the gut, enough to stutter the steady rhythm of Erik's hips.

They fuck like this, watching each other with an unabashed fascination, sole witnesses to the way they take each other apart. Erik takes to holding T'Challa by the hip, guiding him with a sure hand, eyes going from T'Challa's intense gaze down to the sight of his cock being repeatedly swallowed by that perfect, swollen hole.

T'Challa retaliates by clenching around Erik, his inner walls sucking his cock back in with each pullout, the crushing warmth enough to make Erik grit his teeth. It's pure torture, and Erik thinks he wouldn't mind death if it came to him like this.

" _Hngh_ ," T'Challa's started fisting his own cock, eyebrows knit together as he works himself in a fast, sloppy pace. Precum oozes out of the slit thickly, and Erik's mouth waters, wanting to catch a taste.

And he does exactly that, the hand on T'Challa's waist now moving along T'Challa's dick too, the king's grip falling away as he lets Erik take over. He jacks T'Challa off with quick strokes, halting just enough to lick away the precum that's dripped down his knuckle before taking his cock again.

"Yes, yes– please, _ngh_ – " The breathy, desperate way T'Challa pleads with him has Erik fucking him harder, completely out of sync with the hand jerking T'Challa off, but it's good. It's great, even, the way T'Challa is twisting in his hold, the way he's starting to shake with each jab at his prostate, each squeeze at the base of his dick.

"Beautiful," Erik whispers hotly, mouth right against his ear as he watches T'Challa's reflection. Watches him blush all the way from his cheeks down to his chest. Watches him arch his back after a particularly hard thrust, thighs quaking and lips parting. Watches him come apart like this, with Erik's cock and Erik's hand and Erik's mouth and _N'Jadaka, please–_

It doesn't take long for Erik to tip right over the precipice as well, his world condensed into the throb of his cock as he comes inside T'Challa. He swings a leg over T'Challa's own, locking him in place so the king can do nothing but take each spurt of cum shot deep inside of him. Erik doesn't let go until he starts going soft, muscles relaxing as he withdraws with a low hiss.

In the aftermath of their pleasure, T'Challa is always the first to move– the first to offer Erik a soft smile, the first to brush his lips against Erik's– this time, T'Challa is the first to reach around, taking Erik's hand in his.

He doesn't say anything, just runs his thumb over Erik's knuckles, feeling the ridges with the diligence of a scholar. Considering the fact that he'd just fucked this man, the action shouldn't be making Erik weak in the knees, and yet here he is, curling around T'Challa so he doesn't fall apart right there and then.

T'Challa isn't good with words either, at least not when it doesn't involve diplomacy or international affairs. Erik knows this, understands that there will always be things left unsaid between them, but T'Challa– he's always been a sly one. Modest, and quiet in his ways, but perpetually sly.

_Ekhaya._

The word is traced over his palm, over and over until Erik closes his hand around T'Challa's fingers, clasping them like a lifeline. T'Challa cranes his neck then, face angled towards Erik so he can see the bright embers glowing in the king's eyes.

"Yeah," Erik manages around the lump in his throat, blinking away the burning behind his eyelids. Words fail him again in this moment, but Erik is slowly realizing that he doesn't always need them, not when he can squeeze T'Challa's hand instead and watch the way the sun blazes even brighter.

His father was right– the sunsets in Wakanda really are the most beautiful.

"Home. I'm home."

**Author's Note:**

> one day i'll write something plot-heavy for this ship. one... day.....
> 
> ps: this is dedicated to all the brave souls out there who continue to post about t'cherik on the hellsite despite the backlash... but also consider: discord. it'll keep the discourse for this ship hate-free too so we can enjoy 100% pure fuckies. hmu if anyone gets on that!!!


End file.
